


We Met Again in Andalucia

by Yoko_Fujioka



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation, also i changed a lot of dialogue etc, also wow i noticed a lot more small details after focusing and re-reading it so many times, because there's a lot of things I vaguely describe, but that's history and neither of these two get so much as hurt, don't worry your pretty little heads, even though they're never shown in class or doing any work WWW, hopefully it won't be a big problem that i didn't add any sort of dictionary?, i had the doujin open and was checking it furiously so all tone changes are on purpose, i kept certain words in spanish to match the doujinshi's aesthetic, i seriously recommend even just re-skimming over the doujinshi before reading this, i sincerely hope it won't be an inconvenience, it's win win, most of them are close enough to the english translation, on pc at least there's a helpful search for term choice on the drop-down menu, read about cute gays and learn some art history, still living vicariously through my ships 2k16, technically an alternate university, that make more sense if you know what was going on originally, umm i guess i'll tag for mentioned murder because of homophobia, you can always highlight and right click on any words you don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoko_Fujioka/pseuds/Yoko_Fujioka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Leave the balcón open</i>
  <br/>
  <i>So I can see him</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Playing outside</i>
  <br/>
  <i>So I can hear his laughing voice</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Leave the balcón....</i>
</p><p> </p><p>"Sometimes, I think I was born to meet you"</p><p>A retelling/continuation of my <a href="http://myreadingmanga.info/gusarishishou-kuroko-basuke-dj-21-seiki-andalucia-deaetara-eng/">all-time favorite doujinshi of the rear-cart duo</a>, which you are seriously missing out on if you haven't read yet!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Met Again in Andalucia

**Author's Note:**

> Ooooh my god I am in serious danger of dying here....I've been writing two lines and then procrastinating/getting distracted online for hours the past three days, I knew I had to get this done for today but uuuuugh it was so painful!! {I think this is one of those things where the more I tell myself that I **have** to do it, the less I want to LOL.} No but I've been really afraid I'd crash and sleep too long (and miss finishing this on time) so I haven't gotten more than a quick nap every couple hours, either. *worn out* I am so ready to microwave some chicken nuggets and sleep for a month, seriously. (this'll probably be my submission for February, although I had hoped to get three fics in this month.)
> 
> This is an idea I had for midotaka week last year (where I seriously thought I could write seven fics in advance and post them in a row to celebrate, ha, how delusional is that?) but I may not have waited long enough to write this? Other than the reincarnation premise this is pretty much planned on the fly, again, and since it turned out to be so much more backtracking and much less future stuff, I can't help but feel I would've been better sitting on this idea. You guys have seen how long my stories are forgotten/abandoned on ms word, though, and since I've seen several fics of 13 cms but none for this one, I really just wanted to get this out there!!
> 
> Super big thanks to [Shio](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Himitsu_Uragiri/pseuds/Himitsu_Uragiri) again, I know I really cut the deadline close this time!! XDD

What Midorima Shintarō expected from a study abroad in Spain:

A wider perspective of the world and the many diverse cultures throughout it.

Better comprehension and natural use of a new language.

A sense of independence.

A change of pace from a life that had become repetitive.

 

What completely blindsided him:

Meeting his soon-to-be-roommate on the train into town.

At first, or even fourth glance, he seemed well past the level of shallow Midorima found grating, always quick to laugh or crack a joke so that he could lead himself into it.

He was the type to say what he thought, and got along well with everyone he met. It seemed obvious that Midorima would be the exception, too different from the social, cheerful people he usually talked to, but that wasn't true at all. Even if they were in town, and Takao was hanging out with the friends he had made so easily upon arriving, he’d often backtrack to Midorima’s side, especially if he saw the taller man alone, as if they didn’t see each other most of the day together already.

It was even worse because the ravenette often seemed so genuinely perplexed by his roomate’s dislike for the performance. Did he really expect Midorima to believe he wasn’t hanging his own popularity overhead just because anyone could tell from a glance that the greenette was the type to have trouble making friends? Like he was supposed to take it as some sort of godsent that he could have even a taste of “normal” human interaction, and Takao was doing him a favor?

“What a farce” He muttered snidely to himself, mouth covered slightly by the book he was half pretending to read, at least since Takao showed up and tried to start a conversation with him.

“Hey, Kazunari! If you don’t hurry you’re gonna miss the first part of the lecture!” Someone called over in the distance, said man’s head popping up at the mention of his name, even if his face twisted in confusion to understand the rest. Midorima laughed under his breath at how dumb the other looked, but he didn’t seem to be hurt, if he even noticed, suddenly getting at least the general idea and waving goodbye to his roommate before walking away with peppy little steps that made him bounce like he was skipping.

Maybe that’s why Midorima was so thrown for a loop when he tapped his temple like Dali’s name had been entered into some computer database, or remembered not to cook a food the greenette didn’t like after only being told once. Even when reciting poetry, he looked so serene, like he was lost in another world, somehow serious even though he was still smiling like always.

Every practice, the point guard passes the ball with such precision that the stitching burns a little as it rolls nearly perfectly along the curves of Midorima’s hands, like it was running onto a track instead of being thrown so forcefully. He wasn’t even aware he had thought _‘pass the ball to me’_ before it was already dropping through nothing but net.

It must have been that sudden discord that irritated him so much, made interacting with him so difficult.

Perhaps then it was his quest to solve the mystery, put a word to the feeling and his unease to rest which led him to buy a copy of Fredrico Garcia Lorca’s poetry just because he happened to pass by a _libreria_  while on a run.

He wasn’t one to make rash purchases, and rather he’d be much more likely to buy an art collection, but, staring at the book nearly the entire way home, he couldn’t help but doubt.

“Is a book from well before we were born really going to give me answers?” He wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or if he was truly expecting to find the reason behind the near paradoxical sides of Takao’s personality.

Carelessly, he read the book out in a public park, since it seemed too nice a day to read in the shade of the houses, where he just happened to run into Takao and another group of friends.

“Oh wow, you’re reading Lorca!” The ravenette recognized the cover much quicker than Midorima could have even hoped to hide it, and he glared over the spine as his cheeks burned in shame at being caught, nothing more.

Takao just smiled at him pleasantly, with the sort of aura that implied they were merely in a book club together and he had managed to get someone to read an author he highly recommended.

“Hey, Kazu! You skipping class?” Someone joked, words pulling Takao away, although he looked much happier when he waved this time. When he was starting to turn a corner and out of sight, though, Midorima noticed him talking with several of the others in hushed but laughing voices, and they all looked back at him at least once.

Biting his lip to save his nails the worry, he took back anything pleasant he might’ve thought; Takao Kazunari was a devil in disguise, and he wasn’t going to trust him for a moment.

His strange irritation grew into something new and stronger, but his attempts to name what it was only became more muddled.

A few days later he returned to their _apartamento_ to find the _balcón_ doors wide open, white curtains twirling in the breeze that tattled of the changing seasons. If not burglars, like he first feared, then it was likely his errant roommate leaving messes in his wake again. Midorima was seriously starting to tire of cleaning up after him, and considering Takao had stood in the doorframe and watched him scrub the dishes, with no intention to help, there was no doubt in his mind this was some new way to tease him.

Wherever he had expected to find Takao, it wasn’t on the _balcón_ itself, a small lamp on the table as he mumbled the poem about the little boy eating oranges again. Maybe it was the environment that had him so obsessed, it wasn’t like Midorima could really say what he had been like back home, but he seemed to be repeating Lorca in his sleep recently.

“Hey! Welcome back!” He finally greeted, although Midorima was sure he was aware of his presence well before then.

“What are you doing, sitting out here when it’s so cold outside? Come back inside, idiot” He grumbled back, steamed glasses making him glare to be able to see through them.

“Oh, look what I got!” Takao ignored his advice entirely, twisting his upper body at the waist so that he didn’t have to adjust his sitting position but could still show Midorima the book in his hand.

As he still couldn’t quite see clearly yet, he stepped out further into the bitter cold, squinting at the somehow familiar characters on the cover until he realized it was his mother language. He had become so used to the Spanish and very occasional English around here, it was almost strange to see the familiar swirls and strokes of Japanese again.

“It’d be hard to read in Spanish, so I had this imported~” Takao answered his unformed question smoothly, and Midorima knew without looking that he had that cat-like smile again, like he had caught the canary entirely of his own intellect. Whether his pride was in guessing what the other was going to say, or just in thinking to take the lazy way out and pay the extra money, Midorima wouldn’t be able to tell you.

‘Why would you come to Spain, then, if you weren’t even interested in trying to learn the language?’ He thought shrewdly, lips pressed in a thin line as he tried to come up with his own conclusion. Takao had answered his question about why he had chosen Spain without pause, just like most times he opened his mouth. Choosing it based on a favorite artist made it seem like the two of them weren’t so different after all, but Midorima still wasn’t sold. He had always assumed liking a poet meant they had a similar outlook on life or opinion as you, but Lorca seemed much more depressed, and overall he didn’t see much of Takao in him at all, so he was currently at a loss.

“That’s great.” Midorima sighed patronizingly. “Now come inside. You’re pretty cold.” He wasn’t sure why he did it, perhaps because the other was spacing out and he had a feeling it’d take a while for the younger man to register the words, but he placed the dorsal aspect of his hand, a little numb now that he’d been standing out here a while, against Takao’s much colder cheek, the younger man closing his left eye when the knuckles brushed up his cheekbones and closer to the socket. It was an inevitability that you’d be cold if you sat out here while dressed so lightly, but Takao seemed chilled to the point of being worrisome, probably totally unaware of his blue-ish red fingertips with how enthralled he was in his book. It was going to catch up to him quickly now that he wasn’t distracted, so Midorima led him back into the house, making sure to shut the _balcón_ door all the way behind him.

Turning back into the kitchen/dining room, he sighed under his breath when he saw his roommate already at the stove-top with the kettle, as if something as simple as a blanket and a warm drink was all that was needed to remedy how hard his body was already shivering.

“Shin-chan, did you really think I wasn’t going to make enough for you? Just wait a little bit longer.” Takao stated out of nowhere, and it must’ve been Midorima’s expression that made him catch on. Rather, the shorter boy hadn’t turned around even the slightest bit in order to make that observation. It had been months now, but the eyes on the back of his head were still as scarily accurate as ever. The first time he had been subjected to the power thought only to be found in parents, he had nearly jumped out of his skin because Takao suddenly yelled “dinner isn’t ready yet!” when he had sneaked into the kitchen.

Now, though, he liked to at least pretend he was used to it, and walked up behind the other to softly bonk him atop the head with a closed fist, mostly the knuckles making contact.

“What you need is a bath at this point, go soak and I’ll have some tea for us by time you’re done. And don’t think about jumping in and out, you need to get thoroughly warm so you don’t get hypothermia.” Midorima nagged, Takao rolling his eyes for a moment before his lips stretched in either direction as something seemed to come to his attention.

“If you try to keep the tea warm for that long, it’s going to over seep. Why don’t you come in the bathroom with me, we could talk about this book!” He coaxes, and Midorima doesn’t even have the filter to hide his immediate reaction to cringe. Takao just laughs, though, and says he needs to warm up, gripping him above the elbows and forcefully turning him around in order to push him, hands flat on his back. 

 

“Dali and Lorca knew each other and were even friends, did you know that?” Takao asked once he was situated in the tub, bangs pushed over the curve of his forehead while Midorima pretended not to realize how uncomfortable the whole situation was. Rather, he felt it was awkward because he knew it was supposed to be, but Takao seemed so at ease with the whole thing he just couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed. The other seemed to have no concept of personal space, Midorima had found that out the hard way, but more than just being comfortable enough with his body to be naked, the way he spoke was so overly familiar Midorima began to think he had completely forgotten who he was talking to. This was just a guess, but he had a feeling his whole family was probably as up in each other’s business as he was, and could imagine them talking anywhere they happened to be, so perhaps it was a regular event, someone to chat with while he bathed?

“The painting used on this cover…is my favorite” He confessed, turning the book over in his hand as he flipped it open and browsed through some of Dali’s best and most famous works. “Figure at a window” was notably different, at least from his later works, azure and lavenders setting a tranquil mood of familial intimacy. You could tell he truly loved his sister just from the way he drew her, and while her face can't be seen, the knowledge that she’s looking out into the distance pulls the gaze to the gorgeous bay at _Cadaquez_ that Dali loved painting so much in his youth.

“It’s said that Dali’s little sister loved Lorca, but he couldn’t return her affection because he was in love with her brother.” Takao interrupts his thoughts, and while Midorima takes a moment to even realize he was talking, brain whirring as it feeds him the information, in the end he freezes.

“Lorca…?” He repeats slowly, face still a little shocked as he can’t help but question the implication.

“Homosexuality, you know?” Takao reiterates, that annoying smile still on his face although it fades when he closes his eyes and cranes his neck towards the ceiling.

“I heard his feelings never reached Dali, though, and he died in the civil war” There it was again, that strange tone shift that only Takao seemed capable of. Midorima had no idea how he did it, but the air itself seemed pessimistic now, and those words stuck with him the rest of the night.

 _' Was such an important icon really drafted? Did he die on the battlefield? Or was he merely a civilian casualty on the sidelines?’_  He fell asleep with his thoughts in a spin cycle, "opening his eyes” to find a dream corresponding with his thoughts before he dozed off, as they often did when he fell asleep reading a textbook.

This was something different, though; he was in the thick of the battle, canons making his ears ring as unpleasant smells layered over each other until he couldn’t quite tell where anything was coming from or what was stronger. Usually when he had a dream about something in history, it was in black and white, or looked like a painting, and he often wasn’t doing much more than a passerby watching the events from the sidelines. Now, he spent thirty or so terrifying seconds trying to figure out how he had gotten there over hoarse voices screaming in Spanish, eventually finding his hands and gaining control of what his body did. He tried to desert, hide out somewhere safer, but the trenches just continued on and on until he woke up, just slightly damp with sweat.

After class he rushed to the _libreria_ again, picking up several biographies including an award-winner by Ian Gibson which claimed to have solved the mystery of the poet’s death. Midorima was genuinely surprised there was any mystery at all, but he supposed it was hard to identify bodies during a war. Invested in both learning as much as he could and getting the nagging questions out, he devoured several books in the first week.

Takao’s description of his death hadn’t been wrong, mostly just misleading in the wording.

Well known for his leftist politics, Lorca was quick to retreat to his country home at the start of the war, where he was eventually found by Franquist soldiers and lured out under the pretenses of meeting his socialist brother-in-law, who had unfortunately already been killed and his body dragged through the streets. Guiding Lorca to a cemetery, the nationalists hit him on the head with the butt of their guns before riddling his body with bullets.

One soldier was rumored to have bragged he “fired two bullets into his ass for being a queer.”

Overcome with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, Midorima closed the book and placed it onto whatever flat surface he had just walked past, other hand lifting to rub his temples and clear the unpleasant truth away from his thoughts.

A lot of Lorca’s works were censored when he was living, and soon after his death all of them were burned and subsequently banned until 1953. It wasn’t one side or another, Spain was deeply homophobic at the time, and it was a small miracle same sex marriage was now legal here.

 

“I don’t understand homosexuality” Was another piece of the puzzle he had placed on the table, during that conversation in the bathroom.

“Really?” Takao had seemed genuinely surprised, but then he stretched out in the bathtub, feet now awkwardly hanging off the porcelain rim as he seemed to just become one with the water. Compared to how he had been sitting before, protectively wrapping his arms around his knees, he seemed truly relaxed now, in a  way that made Midorima wonder if he even realized he was doing it.

“From adoration to obsession, obsession to specialness…everyone has an idea of their own of what it means, so it’s not surprising to me that some would choose to call it love.” He said, face unreadable. Love was perhaps one of the most difficult human emotions to express, as it seemed to differ from person to person, what it felt like and how it happened. Takao, though, spoke with such conviction, as if he had truly answered life's questions. Perhaps he just got caught up in the other man's self-assurance, or maybe this answer was just what he needed, because just like that, all the irritation Midorima had been feeling started to ebb away. 

From irritation to peace, peace to trust, trust to specialness…really, if he had to try to put a finger on what it was, it had to be love. Really, there was no back and forth, no confusion or fighting himself. As soon as he looked the answer in the eye and embraced it, it enveloped him in warm arms and cheeks that were just a little bit wet.

Voicing out his conclusion, he saw a new expression on Kazunari’s face before it nearly broke in on itself.

 

After putting Fredrico Garcia Lorca into a google search one uneventful spring day, Midorima came across a movie about Dali and Lorca’s “secret love affair” supposedly detailed in the letters they had written each other. Rather, a lot of critics, including Ian Gibson, doubted the idea, but it wasn’t a new one.  Lorca was well-known to be absolutely obsessed with his friend, and similarly, Dali had been said to have talked about him an awful lot, supposedly even more than he did about his wife. Dali was very adamant about not being homosexual, however, and of course Lorca died young and therein cut any possibility of another ending between them.

What if they had another chance, though? Like he had told Takao when he had confessed, he had a feeling Dali loved the other man as well, but he may have been afraid he’d be treated the same horrible way.

It was really funny, he didn’t think he ever would’ve looked up into his favorite artist’s life story, let alone the people he knew, if not for Takao. Wasn’t that strange as well? Liking an artist and wanting to see the places that inspired him was one thing, but he could’ve easily just vacationed here at some point in his life, visited all the cliché museums and memorial parks. As it was, lessons and coursework didn’t leave much free time for the activities his classmates had talked about always wanting to do.

Well, a lot of them came for the university specifically, or at least to get better at Spanish, so why exactly was he here? He had wanted to go far from home, yes, and America’s art was much too unrefined, but why had had Spain jumped out at him, like a siren’s call leading him with sweet whispers and promises?

He couldn’t even say that it was fate and he **had** to come here, because if their coach was right, Takao probably would have followed him wherever he had gone. For this perfect of a backdrop, though, the place Lorca was likely itching to return to after his death…it explained a lot, all of a sudden.

His lips curved knowingly, although his self-satisfaction was interrupted by the sound of the door.

“Welcome back. Go sit on the _balcón_.” He instructed, the greeting a little rushed as he dipped his head in the direction of the double doors. Takao, who had been in the process of unraveling his scarf from around his neck when the greenette had spoken, straightened his back and cautiously looked up from under his bangs, confused.

“Yea, good to be home…” Takao responded slowly, obviously thrown off. “Not that I’m gonna fight you on sitting out there, but is there a specific reason?” He asked, as if he expected the greenette to try to throw him off it or something.

“I’ll bring something warm to drink, just bring a blanket out while you go” Was the vague reply as he tried to make his hands look busy, careful not to look behind him as the other man likely pouted a little but still did as he asked, re-adjusting the scarf and headphones around his head before reaching into his pocket as he walked, pulling an mp3 player out as he grabbed the afghan.

Less than five minutes later he was setting both mugs on the table with a slight ‘clink’ of porcelain against metal, looking behind him to tell Takao to move. Recently they had splurged and bought a cheap, thin metal bench to put on the _balcón_ so that they could live out Takao's daydream of sitting out on it together, a blanket wrapped around their bodies. Smiling happily, Takao lifted a corner of the blanket invitingly, trapping Midorima in his arms when he got close enough to shuffle in. It was just cold enough that wet snow might fall if they got any precipitation, but Takao’s body heat was welcome nonetheless, as was the cheek rubbing affectionately against his neck.

“Do you ever wonder if Lorca and Dali got a second chance to be together?” Midorima asked once their cocoa was nothing more than a ring stain, scooching closer to the other’s warmth subconsciously.

“Would that be us, or just any couple on the street?” Damn, Takao really was too perceptive, and although it’d be less embarrassing if he managed to lie about it, he knew his flushed cheeks had already snitched the truth.

“Of course I mean generally, why would I be so specific?” He tried to claim, turning away from those dancing eyes and missing the way Takao’s face scrunched up when he laughed that breathy little surprised one that came out of his nose.

“Right right, whatever you say~~” He teased airily, turning away to look at the skyline. “It would be nice, to think of them having something happy and secure. Neither of them had nice lives overall, you know?” He tilted his head a little as he turned back to face his boyfriend, a small sort of secretive smile barely lifting his lips.

Midorima couldn’t help but give into the urge, cradling both cheeks in his palms as his thumbs smoothed over the corners of his mouth, blue eyes staring straight at him, wide but unwavering. His cheeks were unusually warm, but the greenette felt it before he even saw it, and smiled a little, which seemed to make Takao’s condition even worse.

“We ought to make as much happiness as we can, then, to make up for what they missed” He concluded, watching smugly as Takao literally ripped his face out of his hands in order to cover his expression with his own, forehead nearly touching his knees.

“My god, Shin-chan, that was cheesy, even for you…you’ve gotta stop doing this to me, seriously.” Takao was bemoaning, even his ear tips more than a dusty pink. Midorima didn’t respond, merely wrapping his arm around shoulders that were just a little more narrow than his own (which he hadn’t even noticed until the damn imp got into the habit of wearing his shirts, and occasionally nothing else). Using his hold on him, Midorima pulled him in closer, leaning down until the ravenette’s head was at about his collarbone and Midorima’s mouth just centimeters away from his ear.

He whispered every cheesy and stupidly romantic thing he could think of, Takao getting more embarrassed and curling farther into himself until even he started getting embarrassed of what he was saying. Once he had gotten to the worst of the lines, though, Takao just burst out laughing, pushing away from his chest as he held his sides and tried not to die, begging the taller man to stop when there wasn’t a part of him left that didn’t hurt. Midorima was put at ease when he was like this, but eventually he let him take a break, an easy quiet hanging over them which only felt odd because of how loud it had been before. Neither forced a conversation, though, just moved back together once they had calmed their breathing, folds and curves fitting together perfectly as they moved as close to the other as they could, even Takao’s head fitting on his shoulder in a way that just seemed too perfect to be a coincidence.

Below their _balcón_ , a little patch of daffodils sprouted up, promising spring's warmth and good things to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Daffodils mean not only new beginnings, but rebirth as well, how perfect is that?? WWW Also, they're one of the first flowers to bloom in spring, and are indeed native to Spain, I was worried too so I checked! WWW
> 
> So, funny story: [the movie about their secret gay love affair is real](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Ashes), I can't even make this stuff up. I didn't get a chance to watch even a choice scene in the rush to post this, but it's supposed to be good so check it out I guess? WWWW
> 
> I did a decent-at-best job researching this, and I think the only reason I went back to re-cover so many events from the doujin was because I wanted to add all the notes I gained WWWW.
> 
> It's funny because the last fic I wrote was supposed to be short but ended up getting carried away with itself, and I was hoping this would turn out to be like a monster fic but I'm still short of even reaching 5k. OTL {I'm pretty sure all the scene cuts are super awkward, but I had no idea how to travel from one idea to the next better, so as usual advice would be much appreciated!!}
> 
>  **As always please leave a comment if you could** , I love Gusari in general, but while 13 cm hurt me in the good kind of way, this doujinshi made my heart soar in an even better one?? I really just wanted to get across my love for it, thought this was as good as any, and I hope my feelings could reach all of you!!! (♡´艸`)


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